No One's Chosen (45 page)

It was not the sun that pulled her from her slumber.
The lack of windows saw to it that morning had come and gone
without so much as an errant ray of light disturbing her. It was a
gentle knocking at the door. Síocháin got up to see to it. She did
not dress, not even small clothes. She simply moved to the door and
opened it. Rianaire thought to call out, but the comfort of the
thick covers kept her silent, even though the room was growing
uncomfortably warm.

One of the naked twins walked into the room through
the open door. He glanced briefly at Síocháin, looking her over.
Rianaire could not tell what his assessment had been but she felt
she caught the slightest hint of jealousy in his eyes. He carried a
large tray with all manner of foods across to the desk that played
host to the cheese platter from the night before. He sat the large
tray down and picked up the cheese platter. His twin followed him
in, carrying a bottle of wine and a flagon of what Rianaire assumed
to be cow's milk. It would be a rich breakfast and the smells began
to hit her as the boys turned to leave without a word. She had just
barely noticed that they had matching bite marks on their necks and
she stifled a girlish giggle.

When the door was closed and they had gone, Síocháin
made directly for the tray of food. Rianaire stretched in the bed,
letting the covers fall away. "I hope that Mion never changes."

Síocháin plucked a large sausage from the tray and
took a bite. "I do not think he is capable of it. Even if he
wanted."

Rianaire stood and walked to the tray. It had more
food than the both of them would ever be able to eat. A platter of
pork sausages, two bowls of eggs, one boiled and one scrambled up
with cheese. There was bacon and a loin of beef and fresh fruits
and a bowl of thick cream. A warm loaf of bread sat at the far side
of the tray next to a large dish of butter. The food was delicious,
but Rianaire had much more on her mind. She had expected that
re-entering the city was enough, but things were more complicated
than that. She would need to burden Mion for his continued
kindness, it seemed, but she was not sure what could be done from
within the city.

"What do you think of all this, Síocháin?" Rianaire
asked between bites.

Síocháin took a few more bites of food, considering
the problem. "Showing yourself may still have the desired effect. I
would not stake my own life on it."

"No?"

"You are loved, true enough. But the bolt of a single
arbalest from a single guard who is loyal to his family and his
wage… that would be an end to you. Even should the smallfolk revolt
after, your life would not return. So much the worse if Spárálaí
can convince the Binse and guard to stand beside him."

Rianaire sighed. There was a knock at the door.
Síocháin saw to it again. The boys had returned to deliver two
loose fitting dresses to the room. They were flowing, low-cut, and
made of a fine red satin. With breakfast done, they dressed.

Not long after was another knock at the door.
Síocháin opened it to reveal Mion and the girl, Taise. They entered
and the girl bowed politely to Síocháin as she passed by.

Mion took up his ornate chair on the far side of the
desk. He had changed into a tight purple dress with yellow trim. It
was more elegant than the previous night's gown. Taise had not
changed her clothes. There was a roughspun brown cloak over a
simple green dress. Rianaire felt she could make out the edge of
breeches at the edge of the skirt and the boots were utilitarian.
The girl smiled when Rianaire looked at her.

"You remember…" Mion began, but stopped to remember
the girl's name. "Taise? Was that what she said she was
called?"

"I have many names. I am many things to not so many
people." Her subtle smile was unchanging except when she felt eyes
upon her. Rianaire had not noticed it before, but she kept her eyes
closed when she was not being spoken to, though she still seemed to
follow things naturally, facing Rianaire when her gaze turned to
the girl.

"Sisters, I love that mystique." Mion turned to
Rianaire, emphatic. "I would have her to bed if she weren't so
strong willed."

"I would have your cock off before the tip felt the
warmth of the air around my womanhood." Her smile was as bright as
ever, eyes still shut lightly but her face pointed directly at
Mion. For his part, Mion purred and rubbed his crotch.

"I want her," Síocháin said flatly.

The girl looked at Síocháin and smiled sweetly,
bowing her head slightly. "I am flattered."

"Unfair." Mion pouted and slumped in his chair.

It fell to Rianaire to push the subject back to what
it ought to be. "I assume she is not here to be bid upon."

"No," Mion said, straightening himself in the chair.
"She has been paid for. She is to be in your service until such
time as you no longer have need of her."

"Paid for? Mion, you did not—"

"This one does not work on promises. The pay first,
or nothing. You may repay me when you have your city back."

"And I shall. What am I meant to do with her?"

"Besides seeing to errant cocks," Síocháin said. The
girl gave a nod of approval.

"She is capable," Mion said, looking back at the
girl. "More capable than I would like. I have yet to set her to a
task that she has failed."

"And you have brought her here with some idea in
mind?" Rianaire shifted her chair, resting her chin on a hand.

"I have. She will take you from the city. I have a
home to the north, very comfortable. We need time."

"We do. But I cannot simply leave the city to
Spárálaí while you make preparations here. Or should I say, I
assume you mean to make preparations here."

"I do," Mion replied. "There are Binsemen who bear
you no ill will, I am sure of it. They will be of use. There are
business owners, bards. But it will take time. And coin."

Rianaire shifted back, sitting upright and looking at
Mion. She looked to the girl. She spun her brain for another
option. Síocháin had had the right of it that morning. Showing
herself was a risk. Mion was a smart man and, for the moment at
least, there was little else she could hope to do.

"Fine. I will leave the city in your hands for the
moment. And when we have dealt with the mess Spárálaí has slopped
before us, I will repay your kindness." She looked to the girl.
"And yours." The girl only smiled and nodded.

"Good. I have much to prepare." He stood and made for
the door to leave. Taise followed. He stopped at the door and
smiled. "This will make a wonderful song."

"Only one?" Rianaire smiled.

Mion laughed at that and left the room. The girl
smiled her cryptic smile, bowed, and followed him out, closing the
door. When she was satisfied they had gone, Rianaire slapped the
arms of the chair. Síocháin put a hand on Rianaire's but said
nothing. The handmaid squeezed just once and Rianaire felt herself
calm.

Rianaire rolled her head back onto the edge of the
chair. "It will be alright, won't it?"

"It may."

Aile sat on the bed flexing the muscles in her legs
each in turn. She could move freely enough, but not quickly and
there was still a fair chunk of her arm missing though the meat had
stitched well enough. The woodcutter had brought her food that
morning. It was decent enough, though there was less meat than Aile
would have hoped for. The man tended to eat oats and fruit in the
morning which perplexed Aile. Oats were horse feed, that was how
she had always seen it. Most of the elves seemed to agree with her
well enough, but not the woodcutter for whatever reason. She had
suspect that the oats were even some sort of slight against her,
but the keyhole to her room looked into the kitchen and its small
table. He'd served her the same breakfast he'd eaten with his
daughter. Oats when there was perfectly good wheat for bread.

The Drow stood when it occurred to her that she'd
spent the better part of an hour contemplating why a man might eat
oats instead of bread. She had eaten the breakfast readily enough,
but it tasted much like the horse feed she knew it to be. The
assorted berries were delicious enough, and with enough jam mixed
in the oats became sweet enough to ignore. Walking around the room
was easier than the day before. She tried a short sprint across the
room but nearly lost her balance when she pulled her muscles tight
to stop the forward movement. The rush forward was not a problem,
if painful, but stopping and turning would be entirely unmanageable
after few quick changes of direction.

The woodcutter had left sometime shortly after he had
finished his breakfast and she could hear the mill at work sawing
and dropping logs. He would likely be out a few more hours before
breaking to eat. She had not seen the girl through the peephole
during the previous day and assumed that the whelp accompanied her
father to the mill or to wherever it was they went. Aile rubbed her
leg and considered the door.

The latch gave way as it had the day before. He had
not seen to lock her in. It was a decent enough start but he still
kept her leathers and knives. Even with the holes, she would need
the leathers back if she intended to make any distance through the
wood. He may have been holding them in the storehouse where he'd
found her. That would be unfortunate. The man was built well enough
that, in her state, she could not hope to overtake. Though there
was also the possibility that she would need to do no more than
ask. Or that he intended to return the goods when she asked.

Aile had no intention of waiting for such a kindness
nor of allowing him any knowledge of her plans. She stepped out of
the room for the first time in what had been a week and a half by
her count. It was hardly a reliable one, but she must trust it.

The kitchen and dining area were simple, but the man
had his own oven. Even more a reason to avoid oats, she thought.
There was a single door along the hallway. It shared a wall with
the kitchen and was smaller than the bedroom she had called her own
which took up the full width of one end of the house. A wall ran
along beside her and at the end, turned off into the living room.
It was a quaint house but spacious and lacking entirely in
decoration. No rugs, no skins, or stuffed animals. Aile walked
silently down the hallway as smoothly as she could manage. The
kitchen was well-lit but empty. The sun shining through gave away
more than she'd have liked. She made for the end of the wall and
poked her head around the corner slowly and cautiously in case the
girl was waiting there for some reason.

The den was empty of life but contained a pair of
tables and a large couch that looked flat and hard, though the
woodwork was beautifully done. She pulled her head back around the
corner. There was nothing in the open rooms, nor did she expect
there to be. In truth, hope had begun to fade that her items would
be in the woodcutter's room but she needed to look.

She made her way back through the hall and stopped in
front of the door to her host's room. She thumbed at the latch on
the door and it opened. Aile almost laughed at that. An unlocked
door might as well be an open one. She pushed the wood door open
and stepped inside, leaving it open. Closing it would likely only
make things worse for her should she need to quickly construct some
lie and the windows across the room did not appear to open. In her
leathers and in good health, she may have chanced to dive through a
window in a moment of need but she lacked both now and she had
enough holes in her body as it was.

The room was spartan. A small bed with thin covers
and room enough for a single body. The bed she had slept on could
hold two elves well enough, Aile reasoned it must have been his
marriage bed. Other than the bed there was only a plain wardrobe
made of a rich brown walnut. She stepped up to the wardrobe. It was
wide and luxurious with no flourish, only heavy wood of a fine cut.
She ran a hand across the door. The wood was smooth and supple to
the touch. Her fingers traced down to the handle and pulled open
the door.

The leathers were there, to Aile's genuine surprise.
Not hidden or even covered. They sat by themselves at the bottom of
the wardrobe as though there were no other reasonable place for
them to be. The clothes had been neatly folded and were dry and
clean from what she could tell.

Aile took hold of the clothes and pulled. The clothes
moved away from the wood readily but a buckle on one of the sheaths
had scraped across the bottom of the wardrobe. The sound was quite
hollow, Aile thought. Her curiosity began to rise. Her knives were
still hidden. There might be room for a few of them in some secret
compartment. She tapped at the wood again to make sure her ears had
not played tricks and the result was the same. It was hollow. She
ran her hand around the flat of the wood inside and underneath the
wardrobe but she found no switch or mechanism.

"Could it be…" she thought.

The Drow gripped the wood with the thumb and
forefinger from both hands and pulled. The panel pulled free with
ease and Aile slid it free from the runner that kept it in place.
She sat the wardrobe's bottom carefully aside and turned her eyes
back to the hole. There were no knives, but a note.

She pulled the paper free from the hole. There was
the slightest hint of a light blue wax where a seal had been. She
did not know the color to belong to anyone in particular so she
flipped the parchment over and unfolded it. The handwriting was
neat, she had seen it before, in the hotel in Spéirbaile. She read
over the words.

"I fear that there is much that keeps me from being
able to expound upon the seriousness of this matter to you, but the
woman you now have in your home is no emissary of the Blackwood.
She is a mercenary of a terrible sort and has been implicated in
the recent assassination of the Treorai of Spéirbaile.